


Wolf at the Door

by ohnocantthink



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Children, Coming of Age, Magic Revealed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-14 00:17:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12995664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohnocantthink/pseuds/ohnocantthink
Summary: An incident during Chantry services sets the templars after young Seron Taleris





	Wolf at the Door

Seron was bored off his ass, shifting restlessly as he sat there in another endless chantry service. Fortunately, it wasn’t going to last much longer. Or, to be precise, the  _ service  _ would last another three hours, but  _ he  _ would only be here another fifteen minutes. Twenty, tops. 

Mama elbowed him and hissed, “Keep still,” and he flashed her a contrite look. Mollified, she patted his head and returned her attention to the priest. Fool. On the way here he’d intentionally picked a fight with his brothers Deyvin and Camlan, and just as he’d planned, she’d separated them, placing four of her boys on her right and Seron on her left, closest to the aisle. As soon as the priest quit lecturing at them and started reciting some interminable passage from the Chant, he would be able to slip out unseen and go meet Terren, since his mother always squeezed her eyes shut and started rocking at that point, putting on a show of devotion for the shems.

The thought of his friend made Seron smile. Last time they’d met, Terren had intimated that he had something incredible to show him, and he figured it was probably actually worth seeing, not like when stupid Iova had said that to lure him into an alley and then pulled up her shirt to show off her budding breasts. Seron wondered if it would be even better than that time when Terren had taken him to the halla pen near the Dalish camp and lured one of the animals so close that Seron had almost gotten to touch its velvety muzzle before it spooked, snorting with indignation and showering them with halla snot.

“—elves,” said that priest from the front of the nave, and Seron jerked his head up, surprised. Stupid shem chantry folk  _ never  _ mentioned his kind, preferring that they quietly tithe every last bit of coin that they couldn’t afford and stay out of sight. He leaned forward, intent, and from the corner of his eye he saw Mama cast an approving glance at him. She was always after him to pay more attention during services.

“If you want evidence that we are doing the Maker’s work,” the priest was saying, gazing expansively out at the nodding shems in the congregating below, “look no further than our alienages. Those poor creatures live in squalor, often unable to even create humble dens for themselves. And yet, do we abandon them?”

_ Yes,  _ thought Seron.  _ Don’t see your ass handing out food and clothes, Mother Hypocrite.  _ The chantry goers, however, were strung along as easily as fish, and murmured their agreement whenever she paused.

“Of course not,” the priest continued. “Humble as they are, we nevertheless raise them to the Maker’s light.”

His annoyance boiling over into anger, Seron tore his eyes from the infernal woman, raising them to a piece of stained glass over her head. It depicted Andraste, her arms spread in a gesture of benediction, as Maferath loomed behind her and her disciple Harvard knelt on her right. On her left knelt another man, officially unidentified, but rumors swirled around the alienage that when this place had been built in the early Glory age, it had depicted Shartan. After the entire chantry was rebuilt some two hundred years ago, they said that the beautiful stained glass was faithfully copied, with one exception—the figure on Andraste’s right had had his ears docked. 

It was bullshit. If Seron had a way to get up there, he would destroy the whole thing in a heartbeat. He imagined himself reaching out with a great hammer, smashing it through Andraste’s face, then—

Without warning, the stained glass window shattered, bursting inwards with a mighty crash and sending shards raining down upon the congregation as people shrieked and covered their heads. To his right, Mama screamed and tried to gather Seron and his brothers under her, but he wiggled away, watching the scene with wide eyes. It seemed unthinkable that the explosion had anything to do with his idle daydreaming, and yet what were the chances that it would happen at just that moment? Perhaps the Maker had a sense of humor, after all.

There was a clatter behind him as one of the larger chunks of glass landed on the seat he’d been occupying just a moment ago. Curious, Seron picked it up gingerly, being careful not to cut his fingers. It was flesh-colored and rounded, with a swirl of iron through the middle: one small, perfect,  _ human  _ ear cast in glass. Before Mama could see, he thrust it in his pocket to show Terren later. He’d never believe such an outlandish tale without some proof.

“Please!” the priest was shouting from the pulpit. “Please, calm yourselves!” At first, it seemed that no one was listening, but gradually, the congregation did just that. “Is anyone injured?” asked the priest, peering out at them as if she herself would come down and tend to the wounded. Yeah, right. Exchanging glances with their neighbors, everyone began shaking their heads no, and the priest smiled radiantly. “It seems that the Maker is sending his blessings down upon us today in more ways than one,” she said, and the crowd chuckled nervously, once more under her command.

“I shall continue my prepared remarks,” she continued, positioning herself once again behind the lectern. “If you want proof of the impact that the Maker’s love can have on these unfortunate souls, look no further than Iselya and her children, who haven’t missed a single service in all of my years at this posting.” She gestured to Seron’s family, and the shems obediently turned to gape at them as if they were animals in cages.

Once again, fury bloomed in Seron’s chest, and this time, he  _ felt  _ the magic erupt from him. He could almost trace its arc as it left his body and, in only a fraction of a heartbeat, collided with the great tapestries adorning the wall behind the altar, setting them fully ablaze in an instant.

It was chaos. It seemed that every single person in the building, perhaps some two hundred, turned as one unified mass and stampeded for the doors. Heedless of anyone else’s safety but their own, they pushed their neighbors ruthlessly aside, not even pausing to help if someone was knocked flat.

Seron felt Mama’s hand on his shoulder, but he deftly twisted away, allowing himself to be carried by the surging crowd. Bodies pressed in on him so hard that for a moment he thought he would be crushed, so he darted between the pews, dropping to his knees and crawling under them as he made his way towards the exit, moving faster than the throng of panicked people in the aisles and avoiding the smoke that was making them cough, besides.

He was a  _ mage!  _ At some level, he had always known he was different. Why else would his blood have thrilled in his veins that way the first time he’d seen magic performed, only a few weeks ago when Ellana had hit Terren in the face with the snowball she summoned? Why else would he have always had that little voice in his head telling him that he was destined for more than some brutish job on the docks? Why else would he have daydreamed about this day his entire life?

It wasn’t until he was outside the building, blinking in the bright sun as the sky above filled with smoke, that he realized his dilemma. Chances were, no one yet knew who had set the tapestries on fire or made the glass explode, but the templars wouldn’t let this go. There would be questions, maybe even a formal inquiry. How many eyes had been on him at the moment he cast the spell that set the curtains on fire? Would they have seen what happened and know it was him? Regardless, the templars would want to test everyone who’d been there that day, starting with the children. He was well and thoroughly fucked. If not now, it was only a matter of days before he was dragged away to one of the Circles, forced to spend the rest of his life locked up there and under heavy guard. No way in hell was he going to let them do  _ that _ , but as often as he’d wished for something like this to happen, he didn’t exactly have a plan.

Unless. Terren had said that the Dalish revered their mages, even made them leaders of their clans. Maybe he could go now to their hahren—or whatever they called him— show him his magic and beg for sanctuary. Maybe they would take him in, give him tattoos across his face and a new name and never, ever let the templars find him. Maybe they’d even make him their leader one day and let him guide their big landships over the endless plains.

The plan could work, if he acted quickly. He wasn’t sure how to get to the clan’s camp, exactly, but he knew how to get to Terren, and that was almost as good.

Glancing around, he didn’t see Mama or his brothers anywhere. Perfect. Without hesitating, he disappeared into the swirling crowd, darted down an alley and, minutes later, climbed over a bit of crumbling city wall and into the forest beyond.

 

***

 

The first time Seron had snuck out of the city, about three years ago, he’d just been a little kid of eight and frightened of the trees, imagining them as angry adults looming over him, ready to give him a beating for breaking the rules. Today, though, they felt like old friends, sentinels to guard him from the searching eyes of the templars and the townspeople. Glancing back, he saw that they already blocked the wall of the city from sight, and he slowly began to relax. Eventually someone would notice that he was missing and tip the templars off, but with any luck, he’d be safe with the Dalish by then.

It was with a bit of a shock that he realized that he’d never see his family again. Not mama, who loved her precious Maker far more than she’d ever loved her youngest son; not his brothers, who vacillated between ignoring him entirely and using him as as a punching bag; not Papa, who came home drunk and meaner than a snake when he came home at all. Good fucking riddance as far as he was concerned. Now it would just be him and Terren, seeing the world together, with Kitai and Ellana along for extra company when they wanted it.

Overwhelmed with excitement at the prospect, he broke into a trot, then an all-out run, enjoying the sensation of the breeze rushing across his face. Was this what it felt like to be Dalish? The freedom to run through the forest with the scent of pine in your nose, light on your feet and sure of where you were going and where you belonged?

Within ten minutes he could hear the river, and soon the tree that had been his and Terren’s meeting spot these past few months came into view. Although he couldn’t quite make out his friend yet, he could see him in his mind’s eye: he’d be leaning against the far side of the trunk, a content smile on his face as he let one foot dangle in the water, or maybe perched high in the branches, laying flat on his belly and having a staring contest with a squirrel or something.

“Terren!” he called eagerly, quickening his pace even further. “Terren, guess what?” There was a rustling in the tree branches, and Seron, almost bursting with exhilaration, grinned from ear to ear.

When he was still twenty yards away, Seron skidded to a halt, his senses on high alert. Something was wrong. The forest, normally cacophonous with the sounds of singing birds and small animals rustling in the underbrush, had gone suddenly silent. Last time that had happened, Terren had explained that there was probably a predator in the area, and the two of them had scrambled into a tree. Only a few moments later, a deer had raced past beneath them, four wolves hot on her heels. He and Terren had lost sight of the deer by the time the wolves caught her, but they’d heard her screams of distress and, a few minutes later, the howl that summoned the rest of the pack to feed. It had been hours before they’d found the courage to come down from their perch.

Now, Seron jumped when he heard a wren trill an alarm call close behind him, and he spun, scanning the forest for anything out of place. There, almost obscured by the trees, he spotted a flash of light: sun glinting off of polished metal. Seron didn’t pause to consider his options; like the deer, he simply turned fled as fast as his legs would carry him, and that was his undoing. They spotted him the moment he moved.

“There he is!” shouted a gruff male voice, and footsteps pounded towards him. His breath coming in ragged gasps, Seron tore through a thick patch of underbrush, not even noticing as the thorns tore bloody gashes across his bare shins. To his right was a dense stand of trees, growing far too close together for an adult body to squeeze through easily. Just the other day, he and Terren had played hide and seek there, and he’d discovered a sinkhole that was practically invisible until you were right on top of it. It was a long shot, but maybe if he hid, it would give Terren enough time to go get help. He made a sharp turn, careening towards it, his legs moving faster than he thought possible.

“Get him!” someone screeched, obviously intuiting his plan. Seron barely noticed, every fiber of his being focused on making it to the line of trees. Only thirty more feet, then twenty, then ten. He reached out, ready to shoulder one of the young saplings aside so that he could wriggle his way into the grove, but his fingers closed around nothing as he found himself airborne, landing so hard on his shoulder a moment later that it was knocked clean out of its socket. An armored body crashed on top of him, pinning him to the ground as he screamed in pain and terror.

Instinctively, he gathered his magic to him and let it fly at the templar whose weight was now crushing him, but no sooner had his fireball left his hand than it seemed to implode, fizzling out with a pathetic little  _ pop.  _ It was as if all the air had been suddenly sucked from the entire forest, and Seron gasped for breath, squirming frantically, but he could do nothing to dislodge the man, who easily outweighed him three times over.

Sour breath washed over his face as the templar growled, “Hold still, you little shit,” and grabbed for his arms. In response, Seron fought harder, screaming like a banshee as he thrashed desperately. “Little help here?” grunted the man as one of Seron’s kicks connected with its target.

As if in response, someone shouted, “You leave him alone!” The voice was high and thin, but fierce nevertheless.  _ Terren. No!  _ Seron bucked beneath the templar, finally managing to displace him just enough that he could lift his head to see his friend racing towards him. Although Seron could plainly see the fear in his eyes, Terren’s round face was set with determination. His right hand was balled into a fist, and in left right he brandished the short blade he used for cutting rope, slicing apples, and other sundry purposes, as if it would be any match for their adversaries’ silverite swords.

One of the templars, a brutish-looking man with a beard the color of rust, calmly stepped forward to intersect Terren’s trajectory, backhanding him across the face with a sickening  _ crunch _ as carelessly and as brutally as one would swat a fly. Terren flew backwards, his body skidding several feet across the ground with the force of the blow. For a fleeting moment, all of them—Seron and the templars—simply gawked at his crumpled form. 

“Terren!” howled Seron, panicked, but his friend didn’t move. “ _ Terren! _ ” A hand clamped over his mouth, silencing him, and when he tried to bite down on it, his teeth were met with metal.

“Was that really necessary?” asked one of the templars, obviously the leader, with a note of disgust in her voice. She stepped into Seron’s line of view, looking down at him appraisingly, and sighed deeply. “You saw what happened to your friend. I would suggest that you decide to cooperate now, Seron. That’s your name, right? Seron?”

He spat at her. If these motherfuckers thought that they were going to take him to the Circle, they would have to drag him there, kicking and screaming and fighting the whole way. 

And that’s precisely what they did.


End file.
